


Go Look Out the Window

by withoutaplease



Series: Boyfriend Sam [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after a chance encounter with the Winchesters leads to an unforgettable night with Sam, reader is trying to move on with her life.  Sam, however, has other ideas.  Follows the events of “Loser Takes the Couch”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Look Out the Window

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Sam x female reader, brief Dean cameo  
> Summary: Weeks after a chance encounter with the Winchesters leads to an unforgettable night with Sam, reader is trying to move on with her life. Sam, however, has other ideas. Follows the events of “Loser Takes the Couch”.   
> Warnings: I write smut.   
> Author’s note: This one turned out a little more feels-y than I expected, but when we’re talking about Sam Winchester, feels come with the territory.

**_\- 5 bar fights, 3 break ins, 10 DUIs, and an ongoing string of vanishing lawn ornaments_ **

               You rub your eyes and squint against the glaring light of your phone in the blackness of your bedroom.  Blinking, willing yourself awake, you read it again.  Maybe it’s because it’s 3:17am, or maybe it’s because you’d long ago given up on hearing from him, but no matter how many times you read it, Sam’s text still doesn’t make any goddamned sense.

               Of course, that doesn’t mean your heart’s not racing at the sight of it on the screen.

_Um. Is that supposed to mean something? –_

**_\- Nothing!_ **

_Okay? –_

**_\- Nothing ever happens in your stupid town .. Everyone dies of natural causes and the only disappearance is garden gnomes. How do u stand it??_ **

Your squint becomes a smile as comprehension dawns – it’s your local news.  Sam has just listed every crime report that has appeared in your local paper in the last month.  He’s been watching.  _This whole time._  That still doesn’t explain why he’s texting you about it at 3:00am, unless . . .

_Sam, have you looked at the time? –_

  ** _\- OMG SORRY I didn’t realize it was so late_**

**_\- Dean picked up this girl at the bar and I’m waiting in the car for them to finish with the room_ **

_You’re drunk! :D  –_

               You giggle to yourself.  Sam Winchester is drunk-texting you.  You sit up in bed, fully awake now, and think back to all the nights you almost did that very thing.  For weeks, your phone barely left your hand, and your heart leapt up every time it chimed.  You must’ve typed “Hey” to him a dozen times and deleted it unsent. Every Saturday night you came home tipsy from the bar was the night you almost called him, but you managed to resist the urge.  Finally, you admitted to yourself that his call wasn’t coming. Then you just tried – albeit unsuccessfully – to forget about him.  Even as you replayed the night you spent together over and over in your head, you told yourself you wished him well and that it was for the best that it didn’t turn into anything more.  That it had been a lovely mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Until now, you even kind of believed it.

**_\- Little bit_ **

**_\- srsly I’m so sorry u were probably sleeping_ **

_It’s okay, I’m awake now.  I’m just surprised to hear from you. –_

_It’s been a while. –_

**_\- I know_ **

**_\- I wanted to talk to u so many times but your town is lame and I had no excuse_ **

_You wanted something bad to happen? –_

**_\- NO no not bad bad_ **

**_\- Just like weird enough that me and dean had to come check it out_ **

**_\- Then I would be there_ **

**_\- And I could call_ **

You press your hand over your grinning mouth and shake your head, half-convinced you are dreaming this conversation. 

_Sam, you can call me anytime you want. -_

_You don’t have to wait for an excuse. -_

**_\- You mean it?_ **

_Of course. -_

               The phone rings so suddenly and loudly that it flies right out of your hand and you have to fumble in the dark to pick it up.  “You scared the shit out of me!” you say, in lieu of a greeting.  You hear laughter on the other end of the line, and the sound of it makes your stomach flip. 

               “Heyy there, beautiful,” he says, his voice quiet and husky and thick.

               Your cheeks hurt, you’re smiling so hard. “Who phones in the middle of the night?”

               “You literally just said I could call you anytime I want.”

                “Fair point,” you reply, laughing, then, “How’s it going, Sam?”

               “Well,” he says, “I’m sitting in the dark, in a parking lot, in . . . uh, Wyoming, I think . . . and it’s getting really, really cold.”

               “Sounds awful,” you say, trying to sound sympathetic while stifling a giggle.  

               “It’s getting better,” he says softly.  “It’s good to hear your voice.”

               “Yeah, you too,” you reply.  He doesn’t say anything right away, so you go ahead and ask the question that’s on your mind.  “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

               He hesitates.  “I wanted to,” he starts, “I almost did.”

               “But?”

                “. . . All that stuff you said about people getting close to me and then getting hurt . . . you’re not wrong about that.”  He’s trying so hard to sound stoic, it breaks your heart a little. “You seemed like you have your life together.  I didn’t want to screw it up for you.”

               You sigh, and despite the fact that it’s not entirely true, you tell him, “Sam, I don’t think you’re going to screw up my life.”

               “Really?” he says, “Because that’s not what you said to me.”

               _Actually, I said pretty much verbatim that getting close to you was the quickest way to get hurt, but who’s keeping track?_

               “That was before you fucked my brains out,” you say, hoping for a laugh, hoping to divert both of you away from the topic of how terrible an idea it is to get involved with one another.

               He laughs.  “Wow.  Yes.  Also true.  Thank you for reminding me.”

               “Don’t tell me you forgot about it?” you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

               “You’re kidding . . . I couldn’t forget it if I wanted to.  It was – you were – so damn hot.”

               You feel your cheeks flush. “So were you, Sam.  I kinda can’t get it out of my mind.”

               “God, the noises you made, and the way you kept arching your back, and how you clamped down on me so tightly I didn’t think you were ever going to let go . . .”  You feel yourself flushing again, this time between your legs.

               “Sam . . .” you start, but before you can say anything else, you hear the car door open and another voice on the other end of the line.

               “Sammy, you awake?” you hear Dean say, followed by, “Who the hell are you talking to?”

               Muffled, like he’s trying to cover the mouthpiece with his hand, Sam answers, “Nobody!”

               “Don’t tell me it’s that hunter chick you’ve been mooning over,” Dean says.

               “Shut up man, I’ll be inside in a minute.”

               “Finally,” Dean mutters, then teasingly shouts, “Goodnight, Buffy!” toward the phone.  The car door slams shut.

               After a few seconds of silence, Sam says, “So I’m going to go to bed before I freeze my nipples off . . .”

               You chuckle to hide your disappointment. “Sounds like an excellent plan,” you say.

               “But I’m gonna call you, okay? Really soon.  I want to talk to you.”

               “You got it,” you say.  “Goodnight, Sam.”

               Before you can hang up the call, you hear him yell, “Wait! Hang on, I’ve gotta ask you one thing!”

               You bring your phone back to your ear. “Yes?”

               “Tell me the truth,” he says solemnly.  “The lawn gnome thing . . . that was totally you, right?”

               “In my defence,” you admit, “they were actual gnomes.”

               Sam laughs, hysterically.

               “It’s not funny!” you shout.  “Those little buggers bite!” He’s still laughing when you sigh in exasperation and say, “Goodnight, Sam,” again.  

               He manages to choke out a “Goodnight” between bouts of laughter.  Then he hangs up.  You lie back against your pillow, close your eyes, and remain hopelessly awake until morning.

* * * * *

               The feeling of floating on air lasts a good three days.  You hold out hope for another five.  Your phone, stubborn piece of crap that it is, stays silent.

* * * * *

**_\- Hey, listen, I wanted to apologize for the other night._ **

It’s been ten days, more than enough time for you to start beating yourself up for getting your hopes up again.  You’re happier than you’d like to admit to see a text from Sam pop up on your phone, but you’re wary, too.  Fool me once . . .

_No worries, Sam.  Nothing to be sorry for. -_

**_\- Not really.  I made an ass of myself._ **

**_\- I shouldn’t have called you like that._ **

_I already told you –_

_You can call me.  I want you to.  I wanted you to all along. –_

**_\- I think we both know it’s not the best idea._ **

**_\- Anyway, I really just wanted to say I’m sorry.  Thanks for being so great._ **

Your heart sinks and you stare at the phone, blinking stupidly.  You desperately want to argue, but what’s the point? You’re here and he’s God-knows-where, and odds are you’ll never even see him again if he doesn’t want to be seen.  You imagine your aunt’s voice in your head, telling you if you got away from the Winchesters with nothing worse than a bruised heart, you should consider yourself damned lucky.  You’re about to type, _“Take care”_ or _“all the best”_ or some other empty bullshit when another text comes through.

**_\- Can you do me one favor?_ **

You sigh and rub your temples, head already pounding from the tears you’re fighting back.  All you want to do at this point is pour yourself a shot of whiskey and start the process of forgetting all over again.

_What? –_

**_\- Go look out the window._ **

               “No way,” you say to nobody, dashing to the window, tears forgotten.  You open the blind and look down into the twilight, beaming.  There’s an unfamiliar car parked right across the street, and Sam’s leaning casually against the driver’s side door.  His smile lights up his whole face when he sees you, and he waves to you roguishly with his phone in his hand.  You’re at your front door in a second, and you open it to find him halfway up the stairs.  “You little shit!” you yell as he laughs and climbs the rest of the way. He tries, and fails, to look remorseful. 

                “Yeah,” he admits, scooping you up into his arms.  “Forgive me?”

               “Shut up,” you breathe, and then he’s kissing you, and words don’t matter anymore. He sweeps you through the door and slams it shut behind him.  You find your hands tangled up in his hair as his run all over your back, your waist, your ass.  His fingers grasp and pull at your clothes as his tongue swirls inside your mouth.  When you tear yourself away to gasp for air, he takes the opportunity to pull your t-shirt off over your head.  You push his jacket off his shoulders and he sinks his teeth into your lower lip.  You cry out but he doesn’t stop, keeps sucking on your lip, like he’s been walking around half-starved.

               “Fuck, I missed you,” he sighs against your ear, as you struggle to pull off his shirt. He works his mouth down along your throat, and if his lips can feel your pulse, it’s racing.  He shoves his hands up under your bra and grunts against your shoulder as he takes your breasts into his hands. Then he’s yanking your bra over your head and pushing you toward the couch, half of your clothing abandoned in a pile on the doormat. 

               You fall back onto the couch with Sam on top of you, covering your chest, your breasts, your belly with kisses as he rushes to get rid of your jeans.  He takes a scant second to drink in the sight of you in only your panties, skin flushed and heaving, lips swollen, hair dishevelled, and smiles hungrily.  Then he’s working on his own jeans and pulling a condom out of his pocket.  He holds it in his teeth as he strips naked, and you drink in the sight of his body towering over you as he raises his eyebrows in a question you answer with your lips. 

               You take the head of his cock into your mouth and swirl your tongue slowly around it, a hint of salt lingering at the tip.  You look up to see Sam’s head fall backwards as he groans in pleasure, condom still clenched between his teeth.  You take him deeper into your mouth and he shudders, clenching a fist in your hair.  You work your tongue up and down around him as he pants, moving faster and applying more suction until he’s moaning out loud through clenched teeth and pushing you away with a hand on each cheek.

               He kneels down, hands still holding your face, and then takes the rubber out of his mouth.  He kisses you slowly and deeply, and holds your gaze as he slips the condom on.  He runs his thumbs under the sides of your panties and pulls them down off your hips without breaking eye contact.  Then his hands skim their way back up along your legs, your hips, settling on your waist.  He lifts you up off the couch, trading places with you so that when he sits back you’re straddling his thighs. 

               His fingers dig hard into your hips, waiting.  You bite your lip and smile at him, sliding yourself up and down against his cock, letting your wetness coat his shaft, letting him anticipate.  “Five weeks,” you whisper against his cheek as you pump your hips, relishing the way his cock is sliding against your clit.

               “I know,” he moans, pulling you into him, pressing himself harder against you.

               “I waited”, you say, you purr, as the friction starts to work its magic and the tension starts to build at your core.

               “I’m sorry,” he pleads, pressing his forehead against yours and baring his teeth in a grimace.

               “I can’t stay mad at you,” you say, grinning, lifting your hips and letting him position himself against the opening of your pussy. You slide down onto him, your moan low and his loud as he fills you.  He thrusts up into you, and you cry out as you press your clit against him and let the pressure push you closer to release. All thoughts of dragging this out disappear as you arch your back and ride him hard and fast, wrapping your arms around his back and digging your fingers into his shoulders as he pulls you roughly onto him, over and over. 

               “Oh, God,” he whispers into your lips, kissing you ravenously again, as you tighten yourself around him.  As you buck your hips, you concentrate on the feeling of his fingers pressing relentlessly into your hips, hard enough to bruise.  You meditate on his firm, muscled chest brushing up against your breasts.  You contemplate his hair, long and soft, and the way it never fails to make him moan when you pull it.  Then you clear your mind of everything except the parts of him that are blurring with the parts of you; his tongue spiralling relentlessly against your own, his cock impossibly hard inside you.  When you start to come, you throw your head back and scream, and he covers your throat in kisses as you writhe on top of him.

               Just as your contractions start to subside, he’s holding your hips still in an iron grip and shuddering beneath you.  His eyes fly open and search yours as he gasps and moans through his orgasm.  You hold his head and press your forehead against his until he stops trembling and envelops your lips in soft, appreciative kisses.

               The two of you lie naked on your couch for a long while, catching your breath. “You know,” Sam says eventually, “this couch isn’t actually half bad.”

               You laugh and turn your head to look up at him.  “You’re welcome to it, if you really want,” you say.

               He grins and sweeps your hair out of your face.  “I think I’ll stick with your room, if that’s okay,” he says.  “Soon, preferably.  I was on the road for twelve hours to get here.  I’m about to pass out.”

               “Of course,” you say, getting up and walking toward the hallway, looking cheekily back over your shoulder as he’s reaching for his underwear and staring unabashedly at your backside.  “Are you coming, or what?”

              

* * * * *

               Sleep doesn’t come easily, however.  Instead, laying your head against Sam’s chest and staring at the moonlight streaming in through your bedroom window, you listen.  You open your heart and mind to Sam as it all comes spilling out.  He talks to you for hours, at times laughing, at others seeming close to tears, but not hesitating, not anymore.  He wants you to know the truth, he says, so you can decide for yourself if you really want to be part of his life. 

               When he’s finished, he’s past exhausted and you’re beyond overwhelmed, but you can see the relief on his face and you’re grateful to be the one to put it there.  It doesn’t matter that you’re scared, because he’s there with you and that makes you feel safe in a way you never knew you were missing.  You watch him a while after he finally drifts off, wondering if he’ll be the death of you.  Wondering, but not caring. 

* * * * *

               You feel sunlight against eyelids that are reluctant to open.  The last time you fell asleep in Sam’s arms, you were bereft to find that he wasn’t next to you in the morning.  Eyes closed, you reach behind you and your fingers instantly smack his stubbled cheek.  “Ow,” Sam says, chuckling, “Good morning to you, too.”

               You roll over to face him, giggling, and he takes you in his arms.  “Good morning,” you say, nuzzling into his chest and hiding your face from the light.

               He kisses the top of your head.  “Please tell me you have coffee,” he says.  You nod without moving.  “I will go and make it, but that means I have to move.”  You nod again.  He gently disentangles himself from you, and when he gets up, you flop down onto your stomach.  You squint your eyes open just enough to watch him walk away, all bedhead and bare feet and boxer-briefs. 

               You sigh, inhaling Sam’s scent on your bed sheets and trying not to think too hard.  You already know it doesn’t matter anymore that your aunt was right about the Winchesters, that everything Sam confessed to you last night confirms it.  It’s beyond huge – the stakes, the danger, the consequences – and you already know you’re all in.  The only question now is, what are you going to do about it?

               When Sam returns with two mugs, you wrap yourself in your sheet and sit up against the headboard.  He hands one to you and carefully climbs back into bed with the other.  You sit in pleasant silence for a few minutes, sipping hot coffee and sharing glances.  Eventually, he says, “So, tell me, aside from hunting vampires and exterminating garden gnomes, what is there to do around here? What would you have done today if I hadn’t shown up?”

               “Besides Netflix?” you joke.

               He indulges you with a laugh. “Besides Netflix.”

               “I guess I’d go for a walk around the lake,” you say. “I like to be able to say I appreciated the leaves at least once before they’re covered in snow.”

               “Sounds good,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

               You smile, touched.  “Does that mean you’re staying?”

               “For as long as I can.  A day.  Maybe two.”

               Your face falls a little.  “And then what?”

               He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed.  “I don’t know,” he says, a little sadly.  “I honestly don’t.”  He glances down, and slowly, thoughtfully takes one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers, considering.  When he meets your gaze again, there’s a glimmer in his eyes.  He asks, a hopeful smile spreading irresistibly across his face, “Ever been to Kansas?”


End file.
